


The Riddle

by agent85



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fitzsimmons Week, Jemma vs. The Kree Rock, post 2x22
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-20 08:51:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4781276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent85/pseuds/agent85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knew that Fitz went to the monolith at night in a desperate attempt to be closer to the love he lost. But they didn't know that every night, he found her.</p><p>They didn't know that every night, the monolith swallowed him, too.</p><p>[A retelling of <i>The Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle</i>]</p><p>[For FitzSimmons Week, Day 7: Free Day]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Riddle

The Kree monolith stood in the center of a room dark as night, as even the lighting had long ago been deemed too great an expense. It was left, but not forgotten; ignored, but not forgiven. And even as the Playground's agents spoke of moving on, they each felt heavy with the weight of it.

But no heart was heavier than that of Leopold Fitz, and some days, he was afraid that he would never be strong enough to carry it. He dragged it instead, from wherever he was to wherever they sent him. And at night, when the crimes of the day were done, he swam through the silence to get to her.

Everyone knew that Fitz went to the monolith at night in a desperate attempt to be closer to the love he lost. But they didn't know that every night, he found her.

They didn't know that every night, the monolith swallowed him, too.

It always felt like sliding downward through sludge, and he still wasn't used to the sensation of endless falling. But somehow, her fingers found his, and he was able to wrap her in his arms. His hands were in her hair, her lips were tracing his, and together they fell deeper and deeper into darkness and each other. He held her as tightly as he could, trying to remember all the things he wanted to say while he still had time. She was hungry for news and thirsty for him, and they spent a moment pretending that they were alone.

He didn't know why she watched them, and if Jemma knew, she didn't say. He didn't even know the woman's name, only that she was loathsome in body and soul, for she was the reason he left the rock with empty arms. 

There had to be a reason she held so much power over them. There had to be a source, or an explanation, or an escape. But in all these months, they hadn't found one. He was starting to fear that they never would.

The woman was crueler than she was ugly, because she didn't enslave Jemma with whips and chains; she trapped her with a question and a choice. And every morning, Fitz dreaded the rise of the sun, because the woman rose with it. She came to stand between them, somehow turning them to oil and water, and asked the same, horrid riddle.

"Jemma, my dear," the woman always whispered, "what does it mean to be a hero?"

Jemma had more answers than mornings. It was sacrifice, it was pain, it was vengeance. It was a thousand other things to Jemma: intelligence, loyalty, love. Fitz didn't have to ask to know this was how she spent the days without him, puzzling over an equation that was impossible to solve, and she didn't have to ask to know he did the same. Instead, they stood there, together and apart, as Jemma tried to appease the demon.

"Being a hero," Jemma said, "means protecting the ones you love at any cost."

Fitz's heart was broken by the woman's smile, which curled like smoke and stung.

"Wrong," said the woman, and Fitz swore her smile burned brighter, "and now you have to choose, my Jemma. Will you be my captive and banish Fitz for the day, or be free and separated from him forever?"

How many times had he begged her to leave him? There was no way to count. She could be free of this place any time she chose, if she'd only let go of him. But each morning, when Jemma refused to imagine her life without him, he was pushed and pulled out of her reach. And it was just as the first rays of sun hit the surface above that Fitz fell out of the stone and back into the cold, Jemma-less world.

There wasn't much time for sleep, or even for food, but Fitz stole both whenever he could. When he couldn't, he searched for her answer. But he couldn't find it in Bobbi's recovery, or in May's healed scars. He couldn't find it in Coulson's new hand or Skye's new name. And every time he thought that he might have solved the riddle, he was afraid to tell her and be torn from her again. 

He always told her, anyway.

And there was a part of him that wondered why he tried at all. Who could tell if there was any true answer? Or that they hadn't found it already? But in the end, Fitz kept searching, because it was the only option he had.

At least he could shrink from this life when the sun shrank from the sky, and find peace in the moments they spent together. The secrets between them were fading away, and when he had the courage to ask for her promise to stay with him forever, he had it. These were the blissful moments where it didn't matter where she ended and he began. Together, he learned, was the way they were always meant to be.

But the deeper their hearts were entwined, the more desperate Fitz became. He started reading tales of knights and swords, of battles won and lost, and found nothing more than he already knew.

"Don't chose me," he said one night, between kisses. "You need to choose yourself, Jemma. You can't stay here forever."

That's when she narrowed her eyes and trailed kisses up his jaw. "It's my choice, Fitz."

"I know. But you should choose to stop, stop doing this for me. How am I supposed to . . . go on knowing that I'm the one who's keeping you here?"

That was the moment she paused, pulling back to look him straight in the eye. She swiped a thumb over the apple of his cheek. "Why do you always come back here?"

Her eyes sparkled, and he couldn't help his smile.

"What else am I supposed to do? Be without you?"

Her lips widened into a smile that matched his, and she kissed the tip of his nose. "There," she said, "that's your answer. Besides," she said, kissing him on the cheek, the forehead, the chin, the mouth, "I losing you would be like losing an arm, or a foot. Worse, really. You're a part of me, now."

Being torn from her that morning felt like being skinned alive.

He was lost in fairy tales when he heard someone enter the lab, and he had to rub his eyes to see Coulson clearly. But before he knew it, he was dressed in tactical gear and on his way to turmoil. He spent so much time studying the schematics that he wasn't sure where they landed, only that homes were being turned into rubble.

He ducked into the chaos and found a place to start assembling his weapon, a device that was supposed to stop this new Inhuman from turning stones into bombs. It was muscle memory, mostly, and he was so focused on finishing his task quickly that he almost missed the brown hair that flew past him. He twisted the cylinder until it clicked into place, then scanned his surroundings for the girl. His eyes watered at the dust and smoke that hung in the air, but he coughed when he found her.

"Jemma?"

She must have gotten out while he was gone, solved the riddle and been dropped where he was. He set the charge and lunged for her, managing to shield her with his body as the ground shook. He cradled her like he would cradle his own torn flesh.

"Jemma?"

But when the dust settled and the smoke cleared, he saw the eyes of a stranger blinking back at him. He pulled away to give her space, but she clutched at his shirt and pulled him back to her. She started sobbing, murmuring in a language he didn't understand, but somehow, he knew what she meant.

And he thought, then, that it didn't really matter if it was Jemma or not. 

"It was strange," he said that night. "She meant something,  _means_  something and I  . . . I could _feel_  it. It was incredible."

Jemma put a hand on both shoulders and touched her forehead to his. "You saved her," she breathed.

Fitz shrugged and resisted the urge to shake his head. "It was like, it was like saving myself."

She lifted her head to survey him. "You don't need to be saved."

He was about to open his mouth to explain when she captured his lips with hers, telling him that she understood. Fitz wondered if it was possible to see everyone that way. Was it possible that he'd glimpsed a sliver of reality, and the rest of his life had been a dream? Because these moments with Jemma and that minute he spent with a stranger seemed to be similar at the core. He had a feeling, though, that Jemma understood it better than he did.

When dawn broke and the hag came to tear them apart, Jemma stood tall. When the question came, she smiled. When she spoke, she looked Fitz straight in the eye.

"Heroism," she said, "is equality. It's the willingness to protect others because you value them the same way you value yourself. You help them because they're a part of you, and because you are both a part of humanity."

Fitz could only stand there, gaping, wondering how she had managed to answer the question he still couldn't put into words.

Fitz turned to the loathsome woman, and saw her toothless smile. "Humans are so silly," she said, "thinking that they end at the boundary of their skin. Those thoughts only cause pain. Now, Jemma, do you think you're ready to return to the world you left?"

He watched as Jemma took a breath and let it out. "I am," she said.

And before they could blink, there they were in the Playground, together. And as they stood in the room that held the monolith, they held each other, sobbing in happiness and grief. When Jemma ran out of tears, she pulled back to wipe a tear from his cheek.

"Thank you."

Fitz cocked his head. "For what?"

She stood on the tips of her toes then, steadying herself with hands on his shoulders so she could whisper in his ear.

"Because it was always my choice," she answered, her eyes shining like a beacon of hope.

Fitz held her face in his hands. "Of course," he said. "It always will be."

It was a few weeks later, when the novelty of returning to reality had worn out, that Fitz put his arm around Jemma and pulled her close.

"It's strange," Jemma mused, "now that I have a chance to think about it, I'm almost grateful."

"Grateful?"

"Mmm," she confirmed, snuggling closer to him. "I was on a dark path, before. I forgot I was worth something."

"I should have reminded you."

She looked up at him and smiled. "And do you think I would have listened? No, it's something I needed to learn for myself. I'm glad that I did."

He took her hand then, and kissed the ring she wore.

"Well, they can't separate us now, can they?"

"No," she said, leaning in for a kiss. "No one can."

**Author's Note:**

> I regularly post sneak peeks and general ramblings about my writing on [my tumblr](http://agent-85.tumblr.com/tagged/Writings%20of%20Agent%2085).


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